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the whole series, a well written, vivid, and circumstantial account of life aboard the famous raider from the time of her setting out on her devastating career in July, 1862, until the day of her destruction by the Kearsarge off Cherbourg, France, on June 19, 1864. The closing of the article was strikingly good, a cool, care-free, philosophical picture befitting the nonchalance one expects of a sailor. Five minutes after the Alabama went down, the writer, as he relates, was rescued from the sea "when a French pilot-boat came running past, and a brawny fellow in petticoats and top-boots dragged me out of the water." In reality he was "rescued" by having the good fortune not to be there at all. The magazine for March, 1887, had the following note:

"Since the February number of the magazine went to press we have learned, for the first time, from his own admission, that 'P. D. Haywood,' the author of the article 'Life on the Alabama-By one of the Crew,' which appeared in THE CENTURY for April, 1886, was not a seaman on the Confederate cruiser, though at the time the article was accepted he assured us he was, and furnished references which seemed to be satisfactory. He now claims that he had the incidents of his paper from a member of the Alabama's crew, but we are unable to attach any importance to that statement, and shall omit his article from the war papers when they are republished in book form.-EDITOR."

were not rare, though we were happily preserved from another disaster so complete as the once just related.

Thinking it useless to do more than add the name of the culprit to our "black list," I fell into the way of returning stolen matter without comment, simply inclosing a printed slip of rejection. Once, however, the practice gave me a bad quarter of an hour; for one day I found in the mail a letter in which the writer stated that he was a student at one of our most important universities, he gave the name,-and in conjunction with a classmate he had recently sent us a poem to prove that we knew nothing about poetry. He said the poem had been returned with a mere slip of rejection, and he appeared to think that his judgment concerning our knowledge was proved when, with many exclamation-points, he declared that the poem he had sent had been copied from Shelley. Now, though I could have pointed out in Shelley's work much that I could have called sad stuff without any loss of literary self-respect, I did not like the situation. The young man gave me no clue to the poem he had sent, and he had not signed his name to his exclamatory epistle, so I tried to believe that there was nothing true in his story. I did resolve, however, never again to return a palpably stolen manuscript without some reference to the theft, though the decision hardly seemed to cover a case like his, where I had possibly returned a masterpiece

Indeed, plagiarism and deception without knowing it.

(The end of the eighth part of "As I Saw It from an Editor's Desk.")

Millie

BY KATHERINE MANSFIELD

M

ILLIE stood leaning against shot bang through the head, and the the veranda until the men young English "johnny" who'd been

were out of sight. When on the station learning farming-disthey were far down the road, Willie appeared. Funny! She would n't Cox turned round on his horse and think of any one shooting Mr. Williamwaved. But she did n't wave back. son, and him so popular and all. My She nodded her head a little and made word! when they caught that young a grimace. Not a bad young fellow, man! Well, you could n't be sorry for Willie Cox, but a bit too free and easy a young fellow like that. As Sid said, for her taste. Oh, my word! it was if he was n't strung up, where would hot! Enough to fry your hair! Mil- they all be? A man like that does n't lie put her handkerchief over her head stop at one go. There was blood all and shaded her eyes with her hand. over the barn. And Willie Cox said In the distance, along the dusty road, he was that knocked out he picked a she could see the horses, like brown cigarette up out of the blood and spots dancing up and down; and when smoked it. My word! he must have she looked away from them and over

been half dotty! the burned paddocks, she could see Millie went back into the kitchen. them still, just before her eyes, jump- She put some ashes on the stove and ing like mosquitos.

sprinkled them with water. LanIt was half past two in the after- guidly, the sweat pouring down her noon. The sun hung in the faded face and dropping off her nose and blue sky like a burning mirror, and chin, she cleared away the dinner, and, away beyond the paddocks the blue going into the bedroom, stared at hermountains quivered and leaped like the self in the fly-specked mirror, and wiped sea. Sid would n't be back until half her face and neck with a towel. She past ten. He had ridden over to the did n't know what was the matter with township with four of the boys to help herself that afternoon. She could hunt down the young fellow who'd have had a good cry just for nothing, murdered Mr. Williamson. Such a and then change her blouse and have a dreadful thing! And Mrs. Williamson good cup of tea. Yes, she felt like left all alone with those kids! Funny! that! She could n't think of Mr. Williamson She flopped down on the side of the being dead! He was such a one for a bed and stared at the colored print on joke! Always having a lark. Willie the wall opposite, “Garden Party at Cox said they found him in the barn, Windsor Castle.” In the foreground,

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emerald lawns planted with immense to her knees and hands. "There's oak-trees, and in their grateful shade somebody about." a muddle of ladies and gentlemen and She tiptoed to the door and peered parasols and little tables. The back- into the kitchen. Nobody there; the ground was filled with the towers of veranda doors were closed, the blinds Windsor Castle, flying three Union were down, and in the dusky light the Jacks, and in the middle of the picture white face of the clock shone, and the the old queen, like a tea-cozy with a furniture seemed to bulge and breathe head on top of it. “I wonder if it really and listen, too. The clock, the looked like that.” Millie stared at ashes, and the Venetian, and then again the flowery ladies, who simpered back something else, like steps in the back at her. "I would n't care for that sort yard. “Go an' see what it is, Millie of thing. Too much side, what with Evans!” She darted to the back door, the queen an' one thing an' another." opened it, and at the same moment Over the packing-case dressing-table some one ducked behind the wood-pile. there was a large photograph of her "Who 's that?" she cried in a loud, and Sid, taken on their wedding-day. bold voice. “Come out o' that! I Nice picture that-if you do like. seen yer. I know where you are. I She was sitting down in a basket-chair, got my gun.

got my gun. Come out from behind in her cream cashmere and satin rib- of that wood-stack." She was not bons, and Sid, standing with one hand frightened any more.

frightened any more. She was furion her shoulder, looking at her bouquet. ously angry. Her heart banged like a And behind them there were some drum. "I'll teach you to play tricks fern-trees and a waterfall, and Mount with a woman!” she yelled, and she Cook in the distance, covered with took a gun from the kitchen corner, snow. She had almost forgotten her and dashed down the veranda steps, wedding-day; time did pass so, and if across the glaring yard to the other you had n't any one to talk things over side of the wood-stack. A young man with, they soon dropped out of your lay there, on his stomach, one arm mind. “I wunner why we never had across his face. no kids." She shrugged her shoulders, "Get up! You're shamming!" gave

it up. “Well, I 've never missed Still holding the gun, she kicked him in them. I would n't be surprised if Sid the shoulders. He gave no sign. "O had, though. He's softer than me." my God, I believe he 's dead!” She

And then she sat, quiet, thinking of knelt down, seized hold of him, and nothing at all, her red, swollen hands turned him over on his back. He rolled in her apron, her feet stuck out rolled like a sack. She crouched back in front of her, her little head, with the on her haunches, staring; her lips and thick screw of dark hair, drooped on nostrils fluttered with horror. her chest. Tick-tick" went the kitchen clock, the ashes clinked in the

§ 2 grate, and the Venetian blind knocked He was not much more than a boy, against the kitchen window. Quite with fair hair, and a growth of fair suddenly Millie felt frightened. A down on his lips and chin. queer trembling started inside her-in were open, rolled up, showing the her stomach—and then spread all over whites, and his face was patched with

His eyes

dust caked with sweat. He wore a to shut her teeth and clench her hand cotton shirt and trousers, with sand- to stop from crying. shoes on his feet. One of the legs of After a long pause he said in the the trousers stuck to his leg with a little voice of a child talking in his patch of dark blood. “I can't!said sleep, “I 'm hungry." His lips quivMillie, and then, “You 've got to!” ered. She scrambled to her feet and She bent over and felt his heart. stood over him. “Wait a minute," she stammered, "You come right into the house and "wait a minute," and she ran into the have a set-down meal,” she said. house for brandy and a pail of water. "Can you walk?" "What are you going to do, Millie Yes,” he whispered, and, swaying, Evans? Oh, I don't know. I never he followed her across the glaring yard seen any one in a dead faint before." to the veranda. At the bottom step

She knelt down, put her arm under he paused, looking at her again. "I'm the boy's head, and poured some not coming in,” he said. He sat on brandy between his lips. It spilled the veranda step in the little pool of down both sides of his mouth. She shade that lay round the house. dipped a corner of her apron in the Millie watched him. water and wiped his face and his hair “When did yer last ’ave anythink to and his throat with fingers that eat?” He shook his head. She cut a trembled. Under the dust and sweat chunk off the greasy corned beef and a his face gleamed as white as her apron, round of bread plastered with butter; and thin, and puckered in little lines. but when she brought it he was standA strange, dreadful feeling gripped ing up, glancing round him, and paid Millie Evans's bosom; some seed that no attention to the plate of food. had never flourished there unfolded, "When are they coming back?” he and struck deep roots and burst into stammered. painful leaf.

At that moment she knew. She Are yer coming round? Feeling stood, holding the plate, staring. He all right again?”

was Harrison; he was the English The boy breathed sharply, half johnny who 'd killed Mr. Williamson. choked, his eyelids quivered, and he "I know who you are,” she said very moved his head from side to side. slowly; "yer can't fox me. You 're

"You're better,” said Millie, Harrison. That 's who you are. I smoothing his hair. “Feeling fine now must have been blind in me two eyes again, ain't you?The pain in her not to 'ave known from the first." bosom half suffocated her. "It's no He made a movement with his hands good you crying, Millie Evans. You as though that was all nothing. got to keep your head." Quite sud- "When are they coming back?" And denly he sat up, and leaned against the she meant to say: "Any minute. wood-pile away from her, staring on They 're on their way now.” Instead, the ground. “There now!” cried she said to the dreadful, frightened Millie Evans in a strange, shaking face: voice. The boy turned and looked at "Not till 'arf past ten." He sat her, still not speaking, but his eyes were down, leaning against one of the veso full of pain and terror that she had randa poles.

randa poles. His face broke up into

little quivers. He shut his eyes, and the back door. Terror started up in tears streamed down his cheeks. Millie. "What is that dog doing? “Nothing but a kid. An' all them Uh! what a fool that young fellow is fellows after him. 'E don't stand any with a dog 'anging about! Why don't more of a chance than a kid would.” 'e lie down an' sleep?” The dog

“Try a bit of beef,” said Millie. stopped, but she knew it was listening. "It's the food you want; somethink to Suddenly, with a sound that made her steady your stomach.” She moved cry out in horror, the dog started across the veranda and sat down beside barking and rushing to and fro. him, the plate on her knees. “Ere, “What is that? What's up?" try a bit.” She broke the bread and Sid flung out of bed. butter into little pieces, and she "It ain't nothink. It's only Gumthought: “They won't ketch 'im. boil.

boil. Sid! Sid!She clutched his Not if I can 'elp it. Men is all arm, but he shook her off. beasts. I don' care wot 'e 's done, “My Christ, there 's somethink up! or wot 'e 'as n't done. See 'im My God!" Sid flung into his trousers. through, Millie Evans. 'E's nothink

'E's nothink Willie Cox opened the back door. but a sick kid.”

Gumboil in a fury darted out into the

yard, round the corner of the house. § 3

"Sid, there's some one in the padMillie lay on her back, her eyes wide dock," roared the other chap. open, listening. Sid turned over, "What is it? What's that?" Sid hunched the quilt round his shoulders, dashed out on to the front veranda. muttered, "Good night, ole girl." "Here, Millie, take the lantin! Willie, She heard Willie Cox and the other some skunk 's got 'old of one of the chap drop their clothes on to the 'orses!" The three men bolted out of kitchen floor, and then their voices, the house, and at the same moment and Willie Cox saying: “Lie down, Millie saw Harrison dash across the Gumboil! Lie down, yer little devil!" paddock on Sid's horse, and down the to his dog. The house dropped quiet. road. She lay and listened. Little pulses "Millie, bring that blasted lantin!" tapped in her body, listening, too. She ran in her bare feet, her nightIt was hot. She was frightened to dress flicking her legs. They were move because of Sid. “E must get after him in a flash. And at the sight off. 'E must. I don' care anythink of Harrison in the distance, and the about justice an' all the rot they 've three men hot after, a strange, mad bin spouting to-night,” she thought joy smothered everything else. She savagely. “Ow are yer to know what rushed into the road; she laughed and anythink 's like till yer do know? It's shrieked and danced in the dust, jigall rot.”. She strained to the silence. ging the lantern. He ought to be moving. Before there A-ah! Arter 'im, Sid! A-a-a-h! was a sound from outside, Willie Cox's ketch 'im, Willie! Go it! Go it! Gumboil got up and padded sharply A-ah, Sid! Shoot 'im down! Shoot across the kitchen floor and sniffed at 'im!”

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